


Actio et Reactio

by Deriveress



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, BAMF Doctor (Doctor Who), Blood and Injury, Episode: s03e13 Last of the Time Lords, Episode: s12e01-02 Spyfall, Episode: s12e02 Spyfall Part 2, Gen, Head Injury, Non-Consensual Groping, Non-Consensual Touching, Spoilers for Episode: s12e10 The Timeless Children, Tenth Doctor Angst, The Doctor (Doctor Who) Whump, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:47:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25444888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deriveress/pseuds/Deriveress
Summary: All the Master ever wanted from the Doctor was a reaction. When he overpowers her on the Eiffel tower, he get's more than he could have hoped for.
Relationships: The Doctor & The Master (Doctor Who), Thirteenth Doctor & The Master (Dhawan)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 30





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Two small things before we get started:  
> Firstly, this is my first time posting on a website using tags. Because of this, I’m really unsure if I tagged warnings, etc. correctly. If you’d like to correct me on this (or anything else), please do so, I'd be happy to change them. Warnings will be further explained in the notes at the end.  
> Secondly, there will be spoilers up till the finale of Series 12 and a few lines from Spyfall, part 2, slightly edited to fit the story as neatly as possible back into the episode. Obviously, I don’t own anything.  
> Not that we’ve gotten this out of the way, I hope you enjoy!

‘When did you last go home?’, the Master asks, wringing his hands, throwing the bait, and he strolls right by the Doctor. She doesn’t even flinch at the proximity anymore, desensitised to his gesturing and lack of personal space. Good.

And, of course, she bites. Always bites when he dangles Gallifrey in front of her, like a fish, blind to the hook inside the delicious meal. ‘What do you mean?’

He turns around; his next words sound as forced, pained as he hoped they would. Because they are. It doesn’t take a lot of acting to gesture in anger and pain and every word brings him a bit closer to her. ‘I took a trip home, to Gallifrey, hiding in its little bubble universe. Not sure how to describe –‘

She has been looking straight at him, the whole time, and yet she is still unprepared as he rushes his body against hers, his fingers curling in her hair and hitting her head with full force against the arched beam next to her. It hits her behind the left ear with a deliciously satisfying thud. Her body crumples and for a moment he is left holding her up by her hair, until he is sure there is no way she is going to fall off the platform. He lets go and watches with curiosity how this new body folds in on itself. Watches for movement of her chest… alright, definitely unconscious.

The Master presses out a ‘Yes’ between his teeth. He is not as patient as he used to be and dealing with her has been tedious up till now. There is always the threat of rage overwhelming him again and forcing his hands to do things he doesn’t want to… not yet. He has barely met this version of the Doctor, but she already survived one of his attempts at her life. It would be a shame to accidentally kill her now before he knows more about what makes this one tick.

As he sinks to the ground next to her, he gets a better look at the beam. ‘Oooops.’ There is a small smatter of blood, as if a perverse marking of her new, smaller height. ‘Well, good thing you’re hard-headed.’

First step accomplished: Overpowering the Doctor. He doesn’t really know what he wants step two to be. Expected it to come to him as he goes. But now he feels his hands wandering over her arms, her face, while turning her on her back, unsure, driven, _so driven_ , but to what?

He wants to hurt her, to take his anger, his fury, his pain out on her, and it takes all there is in him not to just start punching, to get back up and kick at her, imagine how her body would fly against the railing, and then limply fall back to the floor, to – but it wouldn’t be much joy without her pained face looking up at him. He wants to kill her, to see the life leave her eyes, the disappointment in losing yet another face – he wants to take her with him, to tie her up and spend countless hours staring at her, deciding what to do with her, how to inflict pain on the body, agony on the mind – he wants to wound her, to hurt her as deeply as he can and then let her loose again, waiting for her to slowly break because what she finds on Gallifrey will hurt even more.

There are so many things he wants to do to her, but he can’t do any of them while she’s unconscious.

The screwdriver has fallen down next to the Doctor – was she clutching it, ready to attack him in some humiliatingly non-violent way? – and he picks it up, scans her. Tries to make sense of the reading in some strange font that hurts his eyes and sense of aesthetics. ‘Oh, that’s just great!’ There’s blood pooling in her brain, not enough to do permanent damage to one of them, but enough to put her out of commission for _hours_ , if not days. He roughly turns her head around, oh, yes, there’s quite some blood on the outside, too. The only advantage to that is that he gets to wipe his soiled hand clean on her cheek.

‘I don’t want you to sleep’, he grits out, standing up and kicking her side. It doesn’t wake her, nothing could right now, but it feels good, so he kicks her again, before he spins around, returning to his pacing. What should he do now? He wants to tell her, right _now_ , while she still has the taste of freedom on her lips, not after he has dragged her off this wretched tower, into his TARDIS. He doesn’t want to _wait_ any more.

He could heal her. But that would require giving his own regeneration energy and even though he got so, so much during his raid on Gallifrey, he’s still not willing to part even with a small wisp of it. Not for her. He supposes he would do it if it was for an underling with crucial information that he’d hypothetically need right that instant. But her? With her unlimited… no, definitely not.

But maybe he can force her own energy to the surface, trick the Doctor’s body into thinking she was transferring it to somebody else and then redirect it to her head. He represses the urge to kick her again, sits down next to her body, avoiding her limbs twisted in all directions, and touches her face. There is not much to be found in her mind at the moment, apart from the sound and feeling of the impact, repeating in the cavernous void of her mind like a broken record, creating ripples in the darkness. For a few seconds, he amuses himself with the _thump, thump, thump_ , until the accompanying pain urges him on. Slowly, he ventures deeper into her, past the mind, the memories, into the deeper bodily functions, the core. There is a raging fire inside her darkest corners, almost hidden, but others have wandered these paths before him often enough to leave a map in the matrix. He doesn’t dare to get too close to her true nature. Instead, he coaxes a small wisp of it towards him, drags it back towards the outside.

He opens his eyes to see the orange spark drift out of the Doctor’s slightly opened mouth, across her skin, disappearing into her hair. A shuddering breath, she tries to curl on her side. His hand on her shoulder stops that and she blearily opens her eyes, blinking up at him. He only notices that he’s bent over her, faces almost touching, when one of her hands tugs weakly at his shoulder. ‘Wha – whaaat…’

In a gesture meant to dominate, he grips both her wrists, pinning them above her head. But of course the Doctor has to ruin it; she doesn’t struggle, her arms as pliable as a puppet’s. Even the look on her face is bewildered pain, too confused by what is happening to actually be afraid. The Master shakes her shoulder with one hand, snarls when their eyes meet. ‘ _Now_ I’ve got you where I want you.’

Except he doesn’t, really, because she’s still giving him that stupid look, that only says _Who and where and why is there pain?._ Her face scrunches, eyes pressed shut, and she groans.

The Master gives her another shake. It’s time for the wake-up call. ‘Doctor? I’ve won. I got you and I will destroy you just like I destroyed Gallifrey.’

All his plans, all his machinations led him to this moment, the first of many discoveries that will break her hearts and will. All these glorious expectations – and she doesn’t react, still too out of it to understand him properly. He surges forward in sudden rage – to think that she would deny him even this victory! – and checks himself just in time, hitting his fist against the ground instead. He can’t hurt the Doctor any more if he wants her to understand the first morsel of the truth. Maybe he should even wait, throw her over his shoulder, put her into his TARDIS and let her wake up there, restrained in some mildly uncomfortable way for hours, revelation somewhere in the back of her mind, until he deigns her with his attention and explains a bit more.

But he wants something _now_ , it doesn’t even matter what, he just wants her to _react_ to him. Just something to show how deep into her being he has dug himself, how he can make her feel… something. Because it is never acceptable for the Doctor to mean more to the Master than the other way around. He wants proof that he is the one who can play her emotions like nobody else.

Another shove doesn’t bring him anything, but she does blink up against the ceiling, slowly, frowning. Just how out of it is she still? Maybe he should have helped her heal more. Or provide a stronger stimulus, one that she can process, physical instead of mental. His right hand still holding her arms in place, he paws at her breasts with the left one. _Very_ strange to feel those on the Doctor. But apart from a slight movement of her head, no reaction. Slowly, he lets his hand drift deeper, groping between her legs, _hard_ , the shadow of a memory half expecting vulnerable testicles, but finding a different kind of softness.

 _That_ gets her attention. The Doctor makes a startled sound, somewhere between a squeak and a groan. Then her eyes finally settle on him and she tries to free her hands, legs flailing uselessly. She’s weak, but he’ll take a struggle when he can get one. The Master brings his face close to hers, grinning against her snarl. ‘Do you feel _that_?’ He squeezes again and feels her body stiffen before she continues to struggle. It’s _so_ good to be able to hold her down with one hand, watch her face drift from anger to barely suppressed fear.

 _Bite_.

He frowns, what was that? The Doctor looks like she’s close to dissociating and he can’t have that; surely he can wrench a few more minutes of these delicious reactions out of her –

 _Bite_.

‘Are you… talking?’ But she lurches upwards; for a fraction of a second he thinks she’s going to kiss him, then her teeth sink into his cheek. The Master screams, screams again when she lets a little bit loose and clamps down even harder. It takes both hands to get her jaw loose, slippery with blood, and then her head thumps back onto the ground.

The Doctor is shaking, chest heaving, as she curls on her side, back to him. This time, the Master is too preoccupied with his hurting face to hinder her from turning away. ‘You bitch’, he spits, standing up and walking a few steps away to make sure he doesn’t do something he doesn’t want to happen yet. He can hear rustling and then retching behind him. There’s blood in his mouth, but when he traces the bites with his fingers and tongue, there doesn’t seem to be an actual hole through his cheek. Good for her, he’d be getting creative and making holes into _her_ if there was.

By the time he turns around, the Doctor has almost managed to crawl over the railing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like maybe I should expand a little more on my characterisation of the Doctor and the Master.  
> While we've seen her put on a happy facade similar to Eleven, I sometimes think that Thirteen's darkness is not as deeply/well hidden. Just look at her (brilliant! I love it! But still...) slasher smile in her first episode, when she presented Tzim-Sha with his own teleporter. Or the fact that she was willing to use the race card to beat the Master (which is why this fic was created, because I wanted to give her more reason to actually do it).  
> The Master, on the other hand, seems manic even compared to his other instances, at least in my eyes. For instance, in Spyfall 2, when he made the Doctor kneel, I expected him to maybe further humiliate her or keep on killing people regardless. Instead, he almost instantly lowers himself to her level. He thought he wanted something, but it didn't actually satisfy him, so he tries something new. This is how I tried to write him: Always wanting something he can't grasp, never satisfied unless he gets a reaction from her, and if it's not what he wants, he tries something else. Which brings us to the next chapter...


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Master dives into the Doctor's memories (namely, the Tenth's Doctor's aboard the Valiant), where he finds the reason for her atypical behaviour.

_By the time he turns around, the Doctor has almost managed to crawl over the railing._

  


It is such an unexpected sight that the Master wastes two seconds to stare before he springs into action. He pulls her back down, one hand wrapping around her mid, the other buried in her hair, ignoring her shout. What just happened? Did she really just try to kill herself, just to get away from him? This is too much, too soon. It’s not right. She’s not supposed to be there yet, he wants to enjoy the process of breaking her, not get the end product delivered.

Pressing his back against the wall of the tower, he pulls her sits down with her confined in his arms, as tight as he can, even though she doesn’t seem to have much power left. A perverse caricature of a hug, with one of his hands fitting neatly around her wrists. This means getting closer to the Doctor’s still bloodied mouth, but she seems to be too out of it to remember the bite, head lolling, eyes half closed and fingers uselessly scratching over his jacket. ‘Why did you do that?’ The small figure in his arms trembles. It’s not really a question, though. He knows the obvious answer; she thought he was going to rape her and decided death and regeneration was the better option. Being severely concussed probably didn’t make her more rational.

There’s a pressure in his head, and the Master realises he is gritting his teeth. It’s often difficult to control his rage, but he can’t imagine he’d be interested in _that_ unless she _really_ pissed him off. Still, if he decided to assault her, he expects her to _fight him_ and then go on, a little bit more broken, but not to the point of wasting one of her regenerations, limited as she thinks they are. This is not playing by his rules; this is _not_ okay.

He wants to rip the ragdoll body in his arms apart, but he can’t because it contains the Doctor and that would be too easy. So he tries to calm himself down by trying to figure out how he could hear her thoughts before, slightly tapping at her mind with his and finding…

 _No barrier at all_. It’s as if she has granted him access to her very being and for a second he feels overwhelmed by the vast mind around his. Oh. Is this because she never closed the link? Maybe because she’s still to dazed to really understand what’s happening? Maybe because he got so familiar with her mind in the matrix? Or maybe all of those reasons? It doesn’t matter, he struck _gold_ , he can’t decide which mineshaft of memory to hunt down into first.

But maybe it’s not really his decision, because she’s still trembling in his arms, trying to get away from him, and suddenly he’s plunged into a past they both share, though it’s much more recent to him than to her.

The Doctor is looking up at him, sitting on the floor, wearily, bloodied, but they are both wearing different faces. They are aboard the Valiant and the Master is holding a baseball bat, radiating with vibrant energy, with anger. He can feel that the Doctor is not really that scared – smaller, more precise instruments are a much bigger threat in his hands – but also not looking forward to what he’ll do with it.

‘You know, as much as I enjoy getting an outlet, I could just ensure I didn’t need one all that often.’ It takes a moment for the Master to remember, but yes, that strikes a familiar chord. Making the Doctor pay for everything Martha’s family did to piss him off. He remembers them doing that as often as they could get away with – admittedly not very often – and him taking his rage out on the Doctor. ‘I could just tell them what I’m doing to you in retribution. Might make them stop… misbehaving.’ The younger Master pokes the Doctor with the bat, more touching than hurting. There don’t seem to be any broken bones, but more than enough bruises.

The Doctor tenses, looking towards the windows. When he speaks, the Master in his mind is overwhelmed by the emotions behind the one word. ‘Don’t.’ It sounds very calm, but in his mind, the younger Doctor is filled with fear of what is to come when the humans cross a line the Master will not be willing to overlook. There’s love in him, too, love for humanity’s way of staying strong even in the face of adversity like this, his love making him want to encourage them. Very, very far behind that, like an undertone, he’s disappointed they caused him to get hurt again, spoiling the sweet self-sacrifice with a sour note. He’s thinking of standing at the window, looking down at the world, so he can remind himself of how great and ingenious and deserving of his love they are.

This is when it finally sinks in for the Master. The actual punishment is apparently already over, the Doctor’s memory is full of being wordlessly ambushed, kicked and beaten. This is the talking afterwards, like a mock review of a normal meeting. Why is the Doctor scared more of this memory than what happened five minutes before?

The younger Master smirks. ‘Suit yourself. It’s not like they’ll be able to access those blueprints again anyway. But if they ever manage to delay the building again, not even you can save them.’ A pause, the Master staring at the Doctor, the latter looking at the window and pretending he doesn’t notice. ‘Although… that was unexpectedly clever. I’m not even that angry anymore. I think there might be some other things to make me happy again.’ How could anyone ever mistake that for nonchalance, his older counterpart wonders.

Outwardly, the Doctor doesn’t react when the Master kneels before him, leaning towards his face, nuzzling his nose along one cheek experimentally. But his emotions show his utter revulsion with what the Master just proposed. The lights seem to get dimmer, shrinking his field of vision on the Master’s ear and hair in front of his eyes. The only sound he can hear is their breath. Everything seems to slow down as the Doctor’s thoughts start to race away from him in a panic. No. No, no, _no_. Not that. Exchanging torture with… with sexual favours would be a much, much more horrible torture. But is there a way to refuse that won’t make him want to do it just to torture him, just like the- no, don’t think about the club. There is no way to hinder him, nothing to defend himself, if the Master decides rape is the next step on the agenda. The Doctor’s scalp feels hot, surely he started sweating the second he understood the meaning, no, no… He needs to project a calm voice! ‘I’d really rather not.’ Was that too strong, is he going to pick up on how horrible the thought of that is, how…

But the Master only shrugs. ‘Shame. But, well, I can find other ways to pass the time.’ Does that mean he is going to hurt him again? He pokes the Doctor with the bat again. It still doesn’t hurt, but he can’t find it in himself to be relieved because he still needs to make sure not to show just how scared he is. Being at someone else’s mercy has been scary enough before, but now he is terrified. He looks past the Master, staring at the window, trying to remember what the world below them looks like. ‘I think the bat might prove a bit… short-term. Wouldn’t want to bludgeon you. Why don’t we use something less… barbaric this time.’ And there it is, on the table, the Doctor hasn’t noticed it till now because of his lower sight from the floor, but it was there the whole time, noooo…

With an innocent smile, the Master picks up the golf club. As if he doesn’t know just how much the Doctor hates it, how the precise, small hits are way worse than those from the bat. But no, that’s still better than the alternative. It’s still better.

Another tap, this time with the club, before the Master brings it down on the Doctor’s thigh. It hurts, but the rush in his head almost drowns it out. He forces himself back into the present, wincing in pain to make this type of punishment more appealing. It works, just as it always works when he tries to get him away from dangerous ideas.

The first few hits are merely target practice, until the Master breaks one of the Doctor’s ribs without saying anything. From then on, it’s howling and cracking and silent wishes to _please, please don’t understand how scared I am_. The memory doesn’t even stop when the Master does, nor once he has left the room. For a very long time, the Doctor lies on the floor, trying to convince himself that he’d still take the punishment for the humans even if the Master clued in. There is no way to untangle the moral dilemma of going along with it to make it seem like it’s his will, too, versus showing his disgust. He tries to come up with plans to deter this idea if it ever comes up again.

And then he finds himself imagining somehow breaking one of those windows, leaning out and just… letting go. He has given so much to humanity, maybe it would be fitting to die this way. Maybe falling would be peaceful this time, allowing him one last look at whatever city they’re over right now. But of course, this is a ship; the windows are made of stronger than normal glass and it would take significantly more than a chair thrown at them to break through. It is highly unlikely that he’d get a better tool capable of that anytime soon. And he promised Martha, promised himself to keep on fighting the Master.

The Doctor takes the idea of falling, wraps it in all his pain and fear and pushes it as deep down in his mind as possible. And he tries to cry silently, now and then failing to stifle the sobs that threaten to wrench through his whole body, jostling the broken ribs and adding even more pain to the terror in his head.

The Master wrenches his mind free, almost pushing the smaller form of the Doctor to the floor before he remembers he can’t do that. He grabs her jaw and forces her face in his direction, but it is scrunched up, eyes pressed closed, crying the tears of a man who has been dead for over a millennium. He doesn’t think she’s entirely herself right now, but she has stopped fighting him, so maybe she is just bluffing and gathering strength for a more coordinated attack.

‘All this time I was happy to have you prisoner, when I actually had you this far?’ He laughs, and then he can’t stop, laughing at her stupid, bloody face, at her naivety to let him close again after what he just saw. Only the pull of the wounds in his cheek makes him stop again. ‘This is hilarious! I bet you were out of your mind when I caught you again later.’ One of his arms is wrapped around her chest, squeezing against those unfamiliar breasts, the other one pressing her wrists into her stomach. She’s still withdrawn into herself, but he can see that she’s conscious, trying to stop the tears and getting a hold of herself. That would probably be easier if he let her take deeper breaths, so he tries to squeeze ever tighter. ‘Oh, and that chair I chained you into. I didn’t think about it back then, but I bet it put all kinds of interesting ideas in your head?’

Suddenly, he realises their positions and pulls her closer to his body, pressing his groin towards her buttocks, just to see what kind of reaction he can get. She stiffens for a few seconds and he waits, not letting go, but also not moving. It actually feels nice, her body shielding him from the wind, their physical contact creating a warm softness between them. Then the Doctor opens her eyes, face smeared with blood and tears, but her gaze the same sad, old way he had looked at him so often. ‘I forgive you’, she says, but it’s not really her voice, her tone or accent. He wishes he could reach into her and pull that man further out, just to hit him some more, but the one who just spoke is dead, so he settles on hitting her instead.

It feels good, but knowing how deep his past self burrowed himself into her, into _his_ mind feels even better. There has to be something more, some reaction to being so close to the past Master and he has to _see_.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like maybe I should expand a little more on my characterisation of the Doctor and the Master.  
> While we've seen her put on a happy facade similar to Eleven, I sometimes think that Thirteen's darkness is not as deeply/well hidden. Just look at her (brilliant! I love it! But still...) slasher smile in her first episode, when she presented Tim Shaw with his own teleporter. Or the fact that she was willing to use the race card to beat the Master (which is why this fic was created, because I wanted to give her more reason to actually do it).  
> The Master, on the other hand, seems manic even compared to his other instances, at least in my eyes. For instance, in Spyfall 2, when he made the Doctor kneel, I expected him to maybe further humiliate her or keep on killing people regardless. Instead, he almost instantly lowers himself to her level. He thought he wanted something, but it didn't actually satisfy him, so he tries something new. This is how I tried to write him: Always wanting something he can't grasp, never satisfied unless he gets a reaction from her, and if it's not what he wants, he tries something else. Which brings us to the next chapter...


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor fights back and the Master finds that this reaction might just be more than he can handle.

_It feels good, but knowing how deep his past self burrowed himself into her, into **his** mind feels even better. There has to be something more, some reaction to being so close to the past Master and he has to **see**._

This time, when he breaches the Doctor’s mind, he feels her fighting back, shielding memories and trying to push him out. There are no complete memories to access, not without a fight, and he focuses on feelings following their last fight in those past incarnations.

‘You wanted to run so badly… and then you died immediately after I saved you?’ He laughs at her some more, but it dies on his lips to make way for astonishment when he reaches further. ‘And the next one was the skittish one? You went from running away from the time war to running away from me? Always running, an entire regeneration on the run from getting hurt? My, Doctor, I’m _flattered_.’

And she attacks. For the fraction of a second he thinks that he should have known. The walls of her mind close in on him, impenetrable, trapping him in a memory he doesn’t understand, sitting in the dark, restrained, walls touching him on all sides and complete hopelessness. This is eternity, he will never be saved, he is never going to die. There is a different, more universal, terror, too, but she shields it from him and plays up the dread of _Forever_ until it threatens to suffocate him. Desperately, the Master tries to pull out of her mind, but she has him so tangled up in the memory it takes precious seconds. She deals him a vicious blow as parting gift, pain reverberating inside his skull at the same time as her elbow weakly catches him in the stomach, the combination almost dislodging his hold on her hands.

That’s it, the Doctor seems to be getting her strength back and he relishes in the thought of fighting and overpowering her again. He doesn’t think she’s strong enough to stand right now, but he can take his time with her until she is, encouraging her to find the strength to give him a fight. For now, he settles on pressing her against him, finding a finger and bending it until he feels a crack. Show her who’s in charge _now_ , giving her incentive to try and change it without success. The Doctor’s head falls back against his shoulder with a pained groan, but this time he is quite sure it is an act. The next attack will come the moment he lets his guard down. Actually, he wonders, how long was she waiting before the first attack? Was the whole memory a trap to lure him in and give her time to heal? Oh, this is the sort of dance he loves. It’s so rare and beautiful, a combination of the right manipulations by the Master and the right character traits, that the Doctor uses outright deception instead of cunning plans. Oh, he wants this one to stick for a while if he can get her to show her darker side.

Right now, the Master just enjoys the feeling of her body against his, sharing their heat in this twisted hug. Their bodies pressing against each other, their softness a nice contrast to the cold, hard wall and floor.

‘How much of it did you hear?’, he asks quietly. Her ear is close to his mouth and he feels both the sudden urge to press his cheek against it to feel how cold it is and to shout into it just to make her jump. He does neither, instead focussing on his grip on her wrists when he feels her shift slightly. This is not the attack, but he knows it is coming.

‘Of what?’ She barely opens her mouth, teeth gritted and glittering red. ‘I tune you out… when you gloat.’

That barb is way too weak to sting. He notices the way longer sentences still seem to be difficult for her. ‘I told you about home.’

The Doctor shakes her head. ‘You barely mentioned Gallifrey. _You_ knocked me out.’

Great, so he didn’t blow it the first time while she was half-conscious. ‘You should’ve really taken a look now and then.’ He’s back to square one, how much should he tell, how much should he lie? ‘Although you wouldn’t have found much. It’s burned to the ground. Bombed. Razed.’

To his surprise, the Doctor doesn’t immediately react. She just stares at their feet, face so boringly _un_ -horrified he wants to break another, bigger and get his due reaction. Then she relaxes against him. ‘You’re lying.’

So, this is the game they are playing. He is not particularly interested in a long discussion of whether or not he’s lying. They’ve been sitting here too long anyway, he’s tired of cuddling her, it’s time to get her to his TARDIS, let her watch him end this world in 2019. And then he can take her to Gallifrey, maybe with some time in between, to ensure she doesn’t break too fast. He wants her to feel maximum pain so she can maybe, maybe understand how angry and hurt he is. The world that cared so little for either of them, until there was need to use them again, lying in shambles at his feet. She will no longer think that his life is insignificant compared to hers. Oh, he feels almost giddy at that part. Showing her the ruins of Gallifrey, the corpses of the Time Lords. It seems almost fitting to only tell her what he’s done when they’re there, showing the Mother of a race all the dead –

‘Mother?’, the Doctor all but shouts. He’s suddenly aware of a small presence on the very edge of his mind, both of them cutting the psychic link instinctively at his discovery, putting up defences. One of her hands has slipped from his grasp. Has she been listening all this time? But she can’t have heard too much, otherwise she would have believed him about Gallifrey. Maybe because he thought about lying before that– All the while, she is frantically patting the floor around them. ‘ _Mother_? What you have – what have you _done_?’

The Master groans, rolls his eyes. Of course she has to almost spoil this surprise, too. ‘I didn’t do anything to you.’ She has found the screwdriver, scans herself. ‘Well, apart from this.’ He gestures at her head while she squints at the screwdriver, points it at herself again and very slowly scans herself from head to toes. Alright, so maybe instead of almost spoiling it, he has managed to confuse her beyond rationality. But even though this situation does feel somewhat humorous, he is starting to feel impatient. ‘I _really_ don’t think you’re pregnant. Do you think I somehow managed to implant a fetus into you in the two minutes you were unconscious?’

‘I d-don’t think… you c-can be trusted on a-anything.’ Her teeth have started clattering. It’s either the cold she has been shielding him from or shock has finally settled in. ‘It takes m-more than your word to make me believe–‘

There’s a shout at the bottom of the tower. The Doctor immediately falls quiet and he feels her slump against him, as if she’s done her part. Is that relieve? ‘What have _you_ done?’, he asks, pushing her to the floor and clambering over her to the railing. There are soldiers running around, scanning the area and closing in on the tower. This is alright, there is no reason to worry about them finding him up here. Even with a beat-up woman, he doesn’t need to be too concerned, posing as a NAZI soldier himself. Still, something is definitely off down there.

The Doctor chuckles slightly and when he turns around, she is already staggering into the lift, hand hovering over the button to close the doors. She has almost stopped shivering. So it was an act! The Master stays where he is, frozen. One wrong move and she could press the button, giving her a chance to disappear in the chaos down there. Stupid, stupid, stupid! He feels like smashing his head against something again. ‘My friend sent a message to England, telling them how helpful your information has been. And she’s already found your TARDIS.’ Alright, he can still talk his way out of this. But she is grinning, actually gleeful, bared teeth stained red and face smeared with both of their blood. For a moment, the Master feels actually scared of her. He didn’t expect a Doctor who enjoys the game the same way he does and seems actually happy at the prospect of hurting him. ‘I hope you’ll enjoy the slow path.’ And her hand slams down on the button.

It’s fine, he can still race her down the stairs and – and suddenly, there’s soldiers pouring through the door, shouting in both German and French and it takes a few seconds for him to realise that one of her scans turned off his perception filters, probably a last-minute addition to her plan. He wants to roar with anger, but instead has to try and talk down the soldiers. As much as he enjoys an opponent who plays the game with similar ruthlessness to him, this is going too far. After caring so much about oppressed humans, she dares to use the race of this face against him? This is not what he expected and he will not stand for that.

The Master lets them haul him down the stairs, lift _mysteriously_ disabled, and vows to himself that he will make the Doctor pay for this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading until the end!  
> Am I still hung up about the whole 'instead of just leaving him as a traitor, she uses race to ensure he is put into one of the worst inventions humans have managed'? Yes, I am. It feels like too much of an embrace of her dark side if there's no follow-up. But now the Doctor is both compromised by a head injury (making thinking more difficult and also slowing her down, so she needs to make absolutely sure he is unable to follow) and really, really angry. Since we are in the Master's head, let's just focus on the head injury and say it's definitely more reason than she had in-canon. I was going to write a piece from the Doctor's perspective, but as much as I love Whump, I just saw no satisfying way for it to go afterwards, so we're left to imagine what was going on in her head that the Master didn't pick up on.  
> Also, do I love long sentences? Hell, yes. I'd really like to know if that's a problem for you as a reader, since my English teacher always told me they make my texts too complicated. On the other hand, he also loved to tell very inappropriate jokes in front of 14-18 year olds, so maybe he isn't the pinnacle of wisdom.  
> I really hope you enjoyed reading this fic. If you didn't, sorry for taking up your time, but I'm definitely open to criticism, as long as you tell me how to get better. Basically, I'm happy about any kind of reaction. ;-) If you don't want to comment but fancy a chat (or want me to write something for you), feel free to write me a message.  
> Thanks again for your time and have a nice day!

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warnings: Non-consensual groping, the Master uses that to imply to the Doctor he’s going to sexually assault her. The story is written from his point of view and in his mind, he is clear on that he is not at all interested in actually doing that, only in scaring her, though it’s not obvious to the Doctor. Chapter two specifically deals with torture with a blunt object, the tenth’s Doctor’s fear in a very similar situation and a brief contemplation on suicide. Apart from that... the Master is just not very nice, so there will be lots of violent thoughts towards the Doctor.


End file.
